Newport, North Carolina, 1864 ... Captain
Conwell, of the Union Army, was writing a report by the light of his oil lamp.
A flag waved in front of his tent.
“Our camp is near the river and the old
railway bridge. The enemy is not far away but nothing is happening. The soldiers are
getting bored.”
Outside the tent, the men of ‘D’ company
were sitting around their camp fires. The night was cool and bright. Somebody began to
sing a song: John Brown’s body ... Others joined in.
John Brown’s body is a moldering in the grave,
But his soul is marching on.
The captain smiled. “I like to hear them sing
that song,” he said. “Our men were the first to sing it.”
A thin boy looked up from where he was sitting in a
corner of the tent.
“Massachusetts seems a long way from North
Carolina. Things must be difficult at home without you. Are you homesick, Johnny? Are you
sorry you came with us?”
“Oh no, sir,” the boy replied.
“I’d be ashamed to be homesick. I’m your sword bearer.”
The captain smiled: “You were too young to
join the army, but I knew you had courage.”
Johnny wanted to change the subject. Sixteen was
quite old enough for a soldier. He reached for the gold-sheathed sword that hung down from
the roof of the tent. “I remember when they gave you this.”
The captain laughed. “You love that sword,
don’t you? But you couldn’t cut off a chicken’s head with it. The friends
who gave me that sword think war is just a great adventure.”
“But what they wrote on it is nice.” said
the boy eagerly: “True friendship never dies.”
The captain laughed again. “In war, a sharp
sword is worth more than a true friend. And true friends get killed. Remember that
Johnny.” He looked at the papers in front of him for a few moments, then he began to
write again. But he was uneasy. Soon he said, “Come and walk around the camp with me.
I can’t sit still. It’s a fine night and the men are singing. But I smell
trouble in the air. Is a storm coming? Or what is it?”
Johnny’s blue eyes looked doubtful. He jumped
up and joined the captain outside. “It could be a storm,” he agreed.
“There’s a dark cloud over the schoolhouse and a west wind.”
“The men were happy while they were building
that schoolhouse for the black children,” the captain said. “Do you know
what’s the matter with them, Johnny?”
“Yes sir. But you can’t do anything about
it. The men are singing but they are not happy. They are angry because their pay
hasn’t come ... angry with you.”
The captain looked older than his age, which was
only twenty two. “Of course the men are angry. It’s a shame. They’re not
getting paid. The army doesn’t send us the money and won’t permit us to go and
get it.”
They stopped and looked up at the old railway
bridge with the stars above it. The river was broad at that place, and the bridge was long
and high. They could see the soldiers who were guarding it at either end.
“The men have been here for months with
nothing to do,” said Conwell fiercely. “They’re bored! The army’s
asking for trouble if it doesn’t pay them.” He took a deep breath.
“I’ll tell you what, Johnny - I’ll ride over to New Bern tomorrow and get
the men’s pay myself!”
He walked to the place where his horse stood, in
the shadow of the schoolhouse. Johnny followed him.
“You mustn’t go, sir. You really
mustn’t.” Johnny sounded frightened. You’ll get into awful trouble if you
leave the camp.”
Captain Conwell laughed: “You can guard the
bridge, Johnny. You’re my sword bearer, aren’t you? The men have families at
home, who have to eat and we’ve guarded the bridge for six months. Nothing will
happen in just one day. But you better guard it well. We can’t afford to lose that
bridge to the enemy. If the rebels occupy that railway bridge, our supply trains
won’t get through.”
Johnny’s eyes shone excitedly in the darkness.
The captain was silent as if in a dream. He was
listening to the men’s song:
John Brown’s body lies a moldering in the
grave ...
“My father knew John Brown”, he said
after a time. “Do you remember the day he was hanged? I do. When he lived in
Springfield he used to come to our house. The day he was hanged, my father called the
family together. We sat and watched the hands of the clock go round. When the moment of
his death came, we fell down on our knees and prayed for mercy on the soul of John Brown.
He was a wild sort of man, my father said, and rough; but he wanted men to be free.”
The young captain’s thoughts were far away, at
that hill farm in Massachusetts. Johnny waited breathlessly for him to go on: “I
remember a night long ago .... I was lying in bed with my brother Charles in the room
upstairs beneath the steep roof. It was a calm, hot night with a bright moon. I
couldn’t sleep. Suddenly the silence was broken. Our house stood far from the road.
Nothing ever came there at night except a wild cat or porcupine. I lay in bed and listened
to the sound of wheels as they rolled over the rocky track. I knew what it was. It was a
hay-wagon. But the hay was already cut. Our big red barn was full of hay ready for the
long, cold winter. What was a hay-wagon doing on the track at night? I heard it coming
closer and closer, so I got up without a sound; my father never allowed us to get up
again, after he’d sent us to bed at night. I got down on my knees by the open window
and looked out. The white, sandy road came up out of the valley below the house. All at
once the hay-wagon rolled into sight. I recognized the horse and driver. They came from
Huntington, nine miles away. The driver drove his wagon around the house and stopped
between the house and barn just below my window.
I was so surprised I nearly called out to him to
ask why he had come. But something stopped me. Then my heart almost stood still. As I
looked down at the hay-wagon I saw a lot of eyes! The eyes became faces - eight or nine
dark faces with teeth that shone like silver in the moonlight. I was so excited I could
hardly breathe. The farmer looked up, and I moved away from the window and got back into
bed. I was afraid of waking Charles or my parents. I didn’t know what it all meant.
I heard the door of the barn open and close again
very softly. Then I heard the wagon rolling off down the track towards the road. It made
an awful lot of noise, but no one seemed to hear it.
In the morning, I got up to milk the cows, as
usual. I washed my hands and face outside the kitchen door. Then I crossed to the barn. My
heart was beating fast as I opened the barn door. The cows and the old farm horse were
there, as always. I spoke to the animals, and called them each by name. They were calm and
half asleep. I looked at the piles of hay. No one was there. I milked the cows, as I did
every morning, and carried the milk into the house. Mother was getting the breakfast.
Would she say anything? Should I tell her about the hay-wagon in the night and the strange
dark faces I had seen in the moonlight?
No! She would laugh at me, and say it was a dream.
I didn’t dare to tell my brother and sister, either. They’d say I was lying. All
day at school, in the one-room schoolhouse, I sat and thought about it. The teacher got
angry with me.”
“You’re dreaming again, Russel!
You’re not interested in your lessons. “She waved a stick in my face. “How
do you expect ever to be a success in life?” She shouted.
“I knew I deserved this. I tried to behave
myself in school, but I was bored most of the time.”
Johnny and the captain stopped walking. They sat
down on some high ground where they could see both camp and river. Soon the captain went
on.
“I got used to hearing wagons at night. A year
or two later, I heard one again. This time, I lay in bed and listened until the wagon had
driven away. Then I went downstacareful not to wake anyone, and went outside. The barn
door was open slightly, wide enough for me to go through. A little moonlight shone through
the barn windows. As I got used to the darkness, I could see six or seven figures, pressed
together in a corner of the barn. The poor creatures were hoping I wouldn’t see them.
I had frightened them badly. ‘Don’t be afraid; I won’t hurt you,’ I
said. But the people in the corner didn’t seem tom understand. Their eyes were wide
with fear. Now I could count four men, two women and a child. They didn’t seem to
understand my words. Perhaps it was my quick, northern way of speaking. I tried to speak
more slowly. ‘Hello. What are you doing here?’ I asked, as gently as I could.
Seven pairs of frightened eyes looked at me. At
first no one answered. Then the child spoke: “I’m hungry,” it whispered
very softly. “Please ...”
“Shhh!” said the child’s mother
sharply. But she moved closer to me, and studied my face. She must have decided that I was
trustworthy, because she said, “Please don’t tell anyone we’re here. We
won’t stay long. We’re on our way to Canada. Don’t send us back. If you do,
they will beat us - even kill us - for trying to escape. Leave us, please! Forget you saw
us. Go away, please!”
I stood where I was.
“Do my parents know you’re here?” I
asked them.
A man with a thin, sad face spoke for them all:
“We don’t know. We don’t know at all. The man who brought us told us to
stay here and keep hidden. We don’t steal anything, sir. Go back to the house before
they start looking for you. We’ll go away soon. We won’t be here in the
morning.”
I looked at the group of tired faces and felt very
sorry for them. I’d never met any black people before but I knew how they suffered.
“Don’t be frightened,” I said. “You are safe here.”
I pushed the barn door open as quietly as I could
and ran back to the kitchen. Then the door opened and nearly knocked me off my feet.
“What are you doing out at night?” my
father demanded. “Get back to your bed at once!”
I was too frightened to disobey. I did as I was
told.
Upstairs, in the bedroom, I looked out of the
window. I saw my father go straight to the barn. What would he do to the poor slaves if he
found them? He was a fair man, but hard - a man who obeyed the law. It was against the law
to give help to slaves who were owned by other men. The law protected the
slave-owners’ rights. I imagined the cruel face of the slave-owner and the terrible
things he might do to the women and child in the barn, if my father sent them back. I bit
my fingers as I watched the barn door. Then I remembered! My father had had a plate in his
hands and a large tin cup... I began to breathe again; I felt rather proud. My father was
a hard-man, a hill farmer whose life wasn’t easy. But he was a fair and just man too,
and always did what he believed was right.
I climbed into bed beside my brother and pulled the
covers over us both. Charles was a heavy sleeper and didn’t wake up. I lay with my
eyes open. Would father be generous? I could imagine what was happening outside in the
barn. The seven frightened people would be down on their knees. My father never gave food
to anyone until they had thanked G-d-d for it!
In the morning when I went out to milk the cows, I
opened the barn door a crack and waited. I didn’t want to frighten the people if they
were still there. But they had gone. The old horse that pulled the farm wagon was
breathing noisily, and her sides were wet. There was a load of hay on the wagon, and fresh
sand on the wagon wheels.
At breakfast my father looked hard at us three
children. “Do I dare to tell you a secret? Can you keep quiet? Are you responsible
enough for me to trust you? It’s a dangerous secret. If you told it to someone, in a
careless moment, you could get your family into terrible trouble. You’d better tell
me the truth.”
I knew what father was going to say, but my brother
and sister thought that it was a great mystery.
“You don’t need to be afraid,” said
Charles. “You can trust us.”
“We Conwell’s are honest people,”
father said. “We’re not in the habit of disobeying the law. But since our farm
is a station on the underground railway it is now our duty to break the law. Last night,
as Russel knows, seven black slaves were brought to this farm. I fed them and took them to
another farm, ten miles away. You saw nothing and heard nothing. Is that clear?”
Johnny Ring broke in on the captain’s story:
“Is that why you were so determined to join the army, sir?” He himself had had
other reasons. His mother was dead and he had always wanted to be a soldier.
“Go back to the tent now, Johnny and get some
sleep. I’ve kept you out late. I’ll take a last look round the camp.”
The sound of singing had stopped. The campfires
were burning low. Now and then, in the silence, a shot was heard. Apart from that, there
was no sign that the enemy was near. Johnny knew that it was the duty of ‘D’
company to guard the river and railway bridge. But it wasn’t very exciting. It
wasn’t for nights like this that he had learned to fire a gun, back in Massachusetts,
and lied about his age to get into the army. The older men had been in action. They
weren’t complaining, except about their pay. They were in a bad mood about that! He
returned to the tent and sat on his low bed in the corner. The captain’s sword shone
in the lamp-light. He took it down and rubbed it still brighter. In the morning, Johnny
got the captain’s horse ready for the ride to New Bern. The men had earned their pay
and deserved to get it. He decided to go and collect it himself.
Johnny felt excited. Trust the captain to act
quickly when action was needed! He brushed the horse. Then he laid out the captain’s
best uniform, and rubbed the brass buttons till they shone like gold. He remembered the
time when they gave him the sword. What a moment that was! Johnny had wanted to join the
army even then, although he wasn’t really old enough.
The captain looked splendid as he gave the last
orders to his lieutenant. Then he turned to Johnny with his friendly smile.
“I’ll be back by evening. It’s no great distance.”
He left with a wave of the hand.
Johnny wandered off towards the river. When he
reached the bank of the river, he lay down lazily in the sunshine. He began to imagine an
attack on the camp: Ring the alarm ... the rebels are coming, thousands strong... the
captain is leading the Mountain Boys into battle and he - Johnny - is carrying the flag
....
He heard shouting and singing down by the river.
The men were having a swim. They were forbidden to swim by the river, but it was a hot day
and they had nothing else to do. Johnny thought of joining them, but he couldn’t swim
very well. Two men came up the river bank towards him. They were wet from their swim.
Suddenly above the noise of the swimmers, there
were other sounds. A shot! A shout! A cry! They were ringing the alarm. A shell burst
above them in the calm blue sky. The rebels had come.
Johnny’s first thought was for the
schoolchildren and their young teacher. The rebels wouldn’t expect to find children
in an army camp. He looked over his shoulder at the schoolhouse. Should he run and tell
them?
“Johnny, the bridge! We’re falling back
across the railway bridge!”
Smoke was pouring, black and thick, from the far
side of the camp. Crowds of men were running past him towards the bridge. Johnny turned
and ran with them.
He was caught up in the crowd of soldiers and
carried on so fast that his feet hardly touched the ground. Suddenly he recognized the
lieutenant. “Aren’t we going to fight?” he cried.
“We’ll fight from the other side of the
bridge!” the lieutenant shouted back. “The enemy are much too strong for us
here. We’re in a tight place. It’s our only chance!”
Bullets flew over heads and shells burst everywhere
around them. He took a quick look over his shoulder, and saw the gray of rebel uniforms
mixed with the blue of Union ones. A small line of Union soldiers had stayed behind, to
fight off the enemy as long as they could.
Suddenly Johnny and the others were on the far side
of the river. They were safe! They could defend the bridge! The men spread out along the
banks and looked back at the fighting. Men were fighting with guns and swords. They could
hardly see one another in the smoke.
“The captain’s sword!” Johnny cried.
“I left it behind! It’s still in his tent!”
He rushed back onto the bridge and pushed his way
among the men who were still coming across. “Where do you think you’re
going?” He heard the lieutenant’s voice behind him. “Johnny, no! Don’t
go! Don’t be crazy! The bridge is on fire!”
Johnny rushed on without stopping. He hardly knew
where he was when he reached the camp. Half the tents were on fire, and he couldn’t
recognize anything. Men were running in all directions.
Someone fired at him from the roof of the
schoolhouse. The rebels were there! The thought of the captain’s precious sword in a
rebel’s hands made him wild with anger. One line of tents was not yet on fire. He
looked into one tent, then another, then another. There hanging from the roof of the third
tent was the captain’s sword.
Johnny tore the sword from its place and rushed off
at top speed. The smoke was heavier now and the air was filled with cries of pain. At
every step he nearly fell over the bodies of men who had been his companions ... men in
blue.
Bullets rushed past him but missed their mark.
Breathlessly he ran this way and that to escape the men who were shooting at him. When he
reached the bridge, it was on fire. He waved the bright sword in his hand to make a way
through the men, who had blood on their faces and were half-blind with smoke. Then he took
a deep breath and jumped down onto the burning bridge. He was almost alone on the bridge,
an easy shot for the soldiers behind him.
“Get him!” they shouted. “Get the
one with the sword!”
The wind blew the fire towards him. Johnny could
see the Mountain Boys at the end of the bridge. They were calling to him and cheering him
on. “Come on, Johnny! You’re almost there!” He rushed blindly into the fire
and smoke. He had to struggle for every breath. It was like drowning in a hot sea. The
heat became terrible. His boots were on fire and the rest of his clothes felt as if they
were, too. He hung the sword over his shoulder and dropped down over the side of the
railway bridge. He held onto the floor with his hands and edged his way across, no longer
able to see or hear. Suddenly there was silence. The sound of guns had stopped. The rebel
captain shouted, “Hold your fire!” But the men had already stopped firing. At
both ends of the bridge the soldiers were watching the boy as he struggled on.
All at once there was a cheer from both sides.
“Go on! You can do it!”
Fifteen miles along the road to New Bern, captain
Conwell was on his way back to the camp. He pulled up his horse when he saw a horseman. He
was riding towards him like a madman.
“What’s your hurry?” cried Conwell.
The horseman didn’t change his speed as he
came up to him. As he rode past, he called over his shoulder, “Your men are in a
fight back there. You’d better hurry.”
The captain turned into a road that seemed to go to
the river. The road led round a corner and down a hill. From the top of the hill he saw
the gray uniforms of men posted all along the river..
He decided to circle round the enemy, but he ran
into some soldiers on a bridge, and only escaped by jumping into the river and swimming
away. At last he turned his horse’s head back towards New Bern.
Johnny Ring dropped from the end of the bridge into
the arms of his friends. His clothes were on fire. They laid him on the bank and beat out
the fire. His eyes were shut. The sword lay beside him.
Little was left of the railway bridge, though it
was still smoking and the iron-work was red hot. Suddenly with a terrible crash, it broke
in the middle and fell into the river.
Several days later, Johnny woke up in the army
hospital in Beaufort. A nurse was by his side. His condition was so bad she dared not
leave him. He could hardly move or speak. He knew that he was dying. The nurse spoke
gently: “Johnny ... Johnny Ring. Do you know that they say you’re the bravest
boy in the Union army!”
Johnny smiled weakly.
The nurse brought him a drink of water and held it
to his burnt lips. “There, is that better?”
The boy’s eyes moved away from the comfort of
her friendly face. He was looking for something. At last he whispered. “Has the
captain got his sword?”
“That sword! When you were too sick to know
your own name, you were asking for that sword! There it is, right beside you. Your captain
will get his sword,” replied the nurse with a smile. There was a moment’s
silence while the boy tried to take in her words. He struggled for breath.
Johnny tried to move. “I’d like to touch
it,” he said. “Is the captain coming to see me?”
“He is sick ... he’s very ill ... he
tried to swim the river ... Oh Johnny! He’s a prisoner. They put him in prison
because he left his company and went to New Bern. He hadn’t asked for leave. He knows
about you and feels responsible for what happened to you and all the others.” She
bent over the boy with tears in her eyes.
Johnny smiled with difficulty, determined to be
brave: “Give the captain his sword and say live for me.”
She called the orderly and gave him the sword.
“Send it back to captain Conwell with this message” - she repeated Johnny’s
words - “And tell him the lad is dead.”
Captain Conwell was still very ill when the message
reached him. His eyes filled with tears. He pulled the sword from its sheath and read the
words which were written on it:
TRUE FRIENDSHIP NEVER DIES.
For days and weeks he was so sick he hardly knew
where he was. In his dreams he fought his way through thick forests and dark rivers. But
he could never reach his men. He was on one side of the bridge, which was burning
fiercely, but Johnny was on the other side. He could do nothing to save him from his
painful death.
“Dear brave Johnny. I can’t bring you
back to life. But you died for me, and asked me to live for you. I can do that. One
day’s work for me and one for Johnny Ring.”
Captain Conwell remained in prison until President
Lincoln sent him back to the war. He was wounded at the battle of Kenesaw Mountain. He
lived to do the work of two men and became one of the great teachers and preachers of his
day. He never failed to say that half of the work he did was the work of Johnny Ring.
Fifty years after the battle at Newport, he returned to North Carolina.
“John was safely across the bridge when he
remembered that the sword was in my tent. He ran back a long distance and found the sword.
When he tried to get back through the fire he was so badly burned that he died a few days
afterwards ... I feel that the death of Johnny was only last week.”
